The Huddle
by SupernaturallyEgocentric
Summary: Sam's a good student, popular with his teachers and friends. Somehow, that just isn't enough for some people. And now Sammy wants some payback.
1. Chapter 1

Randy Travens lumbered up to him and Sam groaned inwardly. _Sonofabitch!_ _Not again!_

"You ready, Cade?" Travens asked with a grin.

"Not today, Randy," Sam said, without too much hope. "I've got to get home. My brother's expecting me."

Randy put a heavy hand on his shoulder and Sam twitched away uneasily, not into casual touching from near-strangers.

"It'll just take a few minutes, Cade. After all, we don't want me flunking algebra. I wouldn't be able to play football." As a capper, he added, "Besides, Mr. Brennan said you should help me."

So. That was it. Whatever the high school principal said, went. Period. If he wanted Sam to tutor their football team's halfback in algebra, that's what was going to happen.

Even if it meant that Sam had to neglect his own studies. Even if it meant he'd be late finishing up his own hunter-related studies and his regular chores at home.

Because Mr. Brennan had a way making you feel that it was your duty to help other students and, therefore, help _him _out.

And for Sam, life was almost always about duty.

The thing was, normally he wouldn't have minded that much. He liked helping other people; liked it when he was able to help someone understand an equation or a difficult concept.

Like Alice, last semester. She'd been fun to teach; had soaked up everything Sam had taught her and asked for more.

But Randy? He wasn't interested in learning anything. He _was _interested in Sam doing his work for him. He'd been throwing out some heavy hints in that direction lately and Sam wasn't sure how much longer he could put him off.

He thought about Mr. Brennan. He'd been the one that asked him to help Alice, and now Randy. Did he know what Randy was hinting around about? He couldn't, right? He was the principal, after all. A student's education was supposed to be his main concern.

But - Sam wasn't sure, not really. This small Indiana town seemed to place a _lot _of importance on high school football. Almost everyone in town came to the games on Fridays, and the players were treated differently than any of the other students. They got out early for practice, came in late without having to bring a note from their parents; half the time they didn't even seem to do their homework. It was weird. Not spooky weird, not _his _family kind of weird, but - weird.

The coach had even tried to get _him _to try out for the team; because he was so tall, Sam guessed. He'd had to fight pretty hard to get them to leave him alone about that. They just wouldn't believe he didn't want to play.

But he didn't. No way. His life was too busy already. Keeping up with his schoolwork, all the training involved with hunting, not to mention actually hunting now that he was getting older - he didn't have time for football.

And zero interest in it, either, come to that.

"Come on, Wade." Randy punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Let's get going. Don't have all night."

Shrugging, Sam gave in. "Okay, give me a minute, I've got to make a call first."

Stepping away from the halfback, he called his brother's cell and, as expected, got his voicemail. He left a message explaining the situation, said he'd be home in an hour or so and then put the cell back into his backpack.

"Okay," he said to Randy. "Library?"

The house was dark. Dean opened the door, threw his jacket onto the couch and turned on the living room lights.

"Sammy?"

There was no answer. He checked the bedroom in case the little geek was sleeping or working on his computer with his headphones on. Nothing.

Frowning, he pulled out his cell phone, saw the message from his brother and listened to it.

"God, you're such a geek," Dean muttered, shuddering. "_Algebra_." He'd been so happy, no, _ecstatic_, when he'd finally turned sixteen and been able to quit school. English gave him hives and he didn't even want to _think _about math.

The fact that his baby brother was good at something so boring and incomprehensible as algebra, that he could tutor another kid at it - well, that was just further evidence that Sam was the definite brain in the family.

Thinking he might as well start on dinner, Dean went to the kitchen and popped open a beer while he studied the contents of the refrigerator.

"Well, Sammy, he said aloud. "Hope you're in the mood for spaghetti, 'cause that's all we've got."

He filled up a pan with water, stuck it on the stove to start heating, and opened up a can of sauce, putting that on to simmer as well.

Half an hour later, dinner was ready and Sam still wasn't home. Trying not to worry - no one knew better than he that Sam tended to lose track of time when he was at the library - Dean ate his dinner, put a plate in the oven for his brother and cleaned up the dishes.

Done with that, he called his brother's cell and it went straight to voicemail. What time had Sam called earlier?

More than three hours ago. For something that he'd said would take an hour or so.

"Not cool, Sam," he muttered.

He was going to have to give his brother a little talking to. Maybe Dad wasn't here right now, but they still had to stick to the rules. Kid should've been home two hours ago. At the very least, he should have called again.

Making a sudden decision, Dean grabbed the keys to the Impala, pulled his jacket back on and left the house. He'd been to the library once, dropping Sam off. He was pretty sure he could find it.

Sam slowly opened his eyes. At least, he thought he had. He couldn't really see anything. It was dark. And cold.

He tried to move and gasped at the pain that suddenly tore through his stomach. Oh God_, hurts hurts hurts!_

Closing his eyes, Sam tried to breathe through the pain, wait it out. Once it had backed off a little, careful not to move, he opened his eyes again, confused and wary.

What the hell had happened to him? Why couldn't he remember? Was he on a hunt? Had something gone wrong, had some monster gotten him?

Oh no, _Dean_, where was Dean? Was he hurt too? Panicking, he tried to move again, and this time the pain swallowed him, dropping him back into darkness.

The library was closed and had been for a good hour. There was no one hanging around outside, so Dean couldn't even ask if anyone had seen his brother.

Climbing back into the Impala, he decided to drive over to the school. Although there was probably no one there, he couldn't think what else to do. This was _not_ typical behavior for Sam.

Regardless of what he'd thought earlier, his little brother was _always _on time, always where he was supposed to be; if not, he never failed to call. With their line of work, he knew Dean worried if he didn't know where Sam was. He wouldn't leave him hanging like this.

Fear started curling in his stomach.

"Where the _hell _are you, Sammy?"

There were small hands on him, shaking him, an hysterical voice begging him to wake up. Groaning, Sam fought his way back to consciousness. He opened his eyes, stared into the darkness at the small white face above him.

"_don't _- "

"Oh, Sam! Thank God. Thank you, God!" Crying, Alice bent over him and hugged him. He gave a hoarse cry of pain and she jumped back quickly.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! What can I do?"

_God, the pain, it was eating him alive_. He tried to speak, tried to push past it. "Call - call. Help."

"I don't have my cell phone with me!" Alice jumped to her feet. "Do you, Sam?" She looked around desperately. His backpack and books were scattered on the grass around them. She grabbed up the bag, rooted through it, found his cell and dialed 911.

Dean pulled over to the side of the road as an ambulance screamed up behind him. It wailed on past, closely followed by a police car. After they passed, he pulled back out onto the road, following close behind them; some inner voice warning him.

_Sam._

When the three vehicles got to the high school, they drove directly past the three-story building and out to the football field where a young girl, pale and distraught in the headlights, waved frantically.

"Here! He's here! Please hurry!"

Seeing Dean, the cop, a corpulent, sour-faced man, raised a hand to stop him.

Dean, who could see now where the girl was pointing, ran past him to the huddled form in the middle of the field. Fear was a bitter taste in his mouth.

He knelt down beside his brother.

"_Sam_!"


	2. Chapter 2

A voice called to him through the darkness and pain.

"Sam, you need to wake up. Sam!"

_Dean._

He would be okay now. Nothing bad could happen with his brother there.

_Dean._

"Sir, give us some room! We need some room here!"

Frantic calling Sam's name, Dean gave way and moved around to his brother's head, letting the paramedics in to work on him. From what he could see in the glare of the headlights, his Sam's face was covered with bruises and cuts and his clothing was torn. When one of the medics checked out Sam's hands, Dean saw that they were bloody and bruised, the knuckles torn up.

His little brother had fought back. Dean felt a surge of angry pride. He'd messed the bastards up, whoever they were.

That would make it easier for _him _to find them.

The two medics worked quickly and competently over Sam. Dean crouched next to his brother, whispering encouragement into his ear.

"Heart rate's pretty high," one of the techs said. "Blood pressure's down."

Sam started to come around when one of the techs palpated his upper abdomen. He groaned with pain, head thrashing back and forth, then sank back down into unconsciousness.

"We might have some internal damage here, Jimmy. We'd better get moving," the female medic said.

"I'll get the gurney." Jimmy ran to the ambulance.

Keeping out of the way, the policeman came to stand behind Dean.

"Do you know this boy, sir?"

Not looking up, Dean answered, "He's my brother."

The officer had his notebook out. "Name?"

"Sam Cade."

"Age?"

Dean gently smoothed Sam's dark hair back from his face. "He's sixteen."

"And your name?"

"Dean Cade."

"Parents?"

"Our dad." Dean looked up. "He's out of town on business."

The cop stepped back as the paramedics lifted Sam onto the stretcher. As careful as they were, he cried out in pain and then trailed off into moaning incoherence as they secured him to the stretcher and quickly loaded him into the back of the ambulance.

When Dean tried to climb in after them, the woman blocked him from getting in.

"He's my brother!" he said desperately. "You've got to let me come with you!"

"No, I'm sorry." She was sympathetic, but firm. "Look, I get it, but I need room to maneuver in here, you'll just be in the way. Follow us in your car."

Up front, Jimmy started the ambulance. "Let's get going, Jo!"

Dean started to protest again and she interrupted, "The longer you argue, the longer it takes us to get him to a doctor and trust me, your brother _needs _a doctor."

Looking past her into the ambulance, Dean saw Sam struggling against the restraints, moaning in pain. Jo, hearing him, cursed and slammed the door in Dean's face.

"Shit!"

Dean ran to the Impala and jumped in, quickly starting her and pulling in close behind the ambulance as it moved out.

Peripherally, he could see the cop questioning the girl who'd directed them to Sam. Part of him knew that talking to her was something he needed to do, and soon. Right now, all he wanted was to get to his brother.

He wanted Sam awake and looking at him, and not in pain.

Then he wanted Sam to tell him who'd beaten him so badly. He had some ass kicking to do.

As to whether the bastards would survive that ass kicking?

All bets were off.

Sam opened his eyes to a maelstrom of pain and noise.

Strangers surrounded him and he wheezed out a breath in panic. "Dean!" Bright light shone into his eyes, sending a fresh lancet of pain into his head. "No, don't!" he moaned, twisting away from the hands he could feel on his body. The movement sent a fresh tremor of pain quaking through him. He choked on that pain, gasped for breath.

"_Dean_!"

"Shh, shh, it's okay, sweetie, calm down," a woman's voice said softly. "We've got you. Calm down, sweetheart. Let us take care of you."

"Dean!"

A murmur of soft voices surrounded him and the first voice came back.

"Your brother's in the waiting room, Sam. Let's get you taken care of and then he'll be in to see you. First, I need you to calm down. Can you do that for me?"

Fear was strong. What was happening. Where was he? He wanted to scream at her, demand his brother, but he recognized the tone of command underneath the soft voice and, more, the scent and sounds around him. _Hospital_.

Trying to control the panic and fear, trying to breathe through the pain, he whispered. "What's happening?"

"You're at County Hospital, Sam. My name is Dr. Willa Creedy." Kind blue eyes smiled down at him out of a lightly wrinkled face.

"What happened?" he repeated, trying to focus.

"It looks like you got beat up, Sam. But nothing we can't take care of." She moved her hands gently over his legs and arms. "Nothing broken here," she said in an aside to a nurse. "Some pretty extensive bruising, though."

She moved on to his chest and abdomen, pressing lightly here and there. At a low moan from Sam, she said, "It looks like you've got at least one broken rib here. More bruising. Looks like someone gave you a pretty good kick, Sam. Do you remember anything about that?"

Dazed, he stared up at her. "I was at school . . ."

Dr. Creedy moved on to his upper abdomen. "They found you on the football field -" she stopped when he gave a high cry of pain. "This hurts, Sam?"

He nodded, eyes dilated.

"Well, don't worry, we're going to take care of that for you," she said easily. "You rest for a minute, I'm going to go talk to your brother for a minute, and then I'll bring him right back here to see you."

Sam turned his face into the pillow, stifling a moan. _Dean. Get me out of here!_

"I wasn't able to reach my father," Dean said flatly. "I left him a voicemail. But it doesn't matter. I have legal responsibility for my brother when our dad's away. So tell me what's happening."

"Your brother has extensive bruising and cuts on his arms and legs, and at least one broken rib, which I'm guessing came from being kicked while he was on the ground," Dr. Creedy said gently.

She stopped for a minute when Dean sucked in a harsh breath, white with rage. "The thing I'm most concerned about - and why I asked about your father - with the location of the broken rib and the pain in the surrounding area, I'm concerned that Sam's spleen may have been ruptured."

Dean's heart stuttered; he tried to stay calm. "What does that mean?"

"There are several directions it can go. Best option is I just stitch it up and Sam's good to go. If the damage is severe enough, however, we may have to remove part of the spleen, or even the whole thing."

She laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, gentling the panic she saw rising in him.

"Any surgery has a degree of risk, but this is a very straightforward procedure that I've done many times before. Barring any complications, I don't anticipate any difficulties."

He turned, took a couple steps away, trying to control his intense fear for his brother and the growing fury beneath it.

Dr. Creedy gave him a moment. "We do need to move fairly quickly on this, to avoid complications, Mr. Cade. There will be some paperwork for you to sign, but first, Sam is asking for you."

Jaw tight, Dean nodded shortly. She looked into his furious green eyes, trying to gauge his coping powers.

"One thing. I do need to do one quick test. If you could be there for that, and help me explain what's happening, it will make it a little easier for him. Teenagers tend to think they're immortal, but an operation is scary for anyone." Dean drew a deep breath, locked his rage and fear down tight. When he spoke, his voice was calm.

"Whatever Sam needs, Doc."

Sam, clad only in his boxers and looking small in spite of his not inconsiderable size, looked up with relief when they came into the exam room. "Dean!"

Dean went to his little brother, leaned over and hugged his brother gently. "Hey, Sammy. How you doing?"

"Okay." Tired and confused, Sam stared up at him. "What's happening? I want to go home."

"Yeah, I know. Not just yet, kid."

Sam reached up, touched Dean's arm. "I'm _okay_," he insisted weakly. "Please, I just want to go _home." _

Dean stroked Sam's forehead gently, chose his next words carefully.

"Not just yet, kiddo. The doc here wants to do a test."

Sam's eyes widened and Dr. Creedy smiled reassuringly.

"Not a big deal, Sam. It'll just take a minute, then we'll have a better idea what's going on and when you can get out of here."

Sam nodded, reluctantly, relaxed a little and looked at Dean. "Dad?"

Dean decided not to mention having to leave a voicemail. "I called him. He'll be here as soon as he can."

Sam held tight to Dean's hand against the pain while Dr. Creedy gently inserted a needle into Sam's abdomen, and drew out some liquid. The liquid was tinged with red; she studied it, gave it to the nurse with a low-voiced instruction.

"And we'll need a room upstairs, as soon as possible."

The nurse nodded and left quickly.

Creedy spoke to her patient gently. "Sam, it looks like you've got some bleeding into the abdomen, so we're going to have to do some exploratory surgery."

"You want to operate?" Icy with terror, Sam looked at Dean. "Do we have to?"

Dean patted Sam's hand gently. All of the Winchesters had spent a lot of time getting stitched and sewn up after hunts. Sometimes those stitching sessions got pretty freaking serious.

This was something different. Letting someone cut you open and take a look inside, move your guts around? This was a whole new level of 'oh shit'.

"I think we gotta do it, Sammy. Listen, the doc here is good, I can tell. After all, she knew to use words with only one syllable when she was talking to me." He grinned. Sam tried to smile back

Dr. Creedy laid a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but it really is necessary. I know something like this can be frightening, but I want you to try not to worry. We do this kind of thing around here all the time and we're going to take very good care of you."

Sam nodded, eyes fastened on Dean, who said, "Can we have a minute here, Doc?"

"Of course, but just a minute. We have to get Sam prepped and you'll need to sign that paperwork we talked about." She gave another reassuring smile to Sam and left the exam room.

Dean took his brother's hand. "You're gonna be fine. Like she said, this spleen thing is no big deal, they do it all the time in hospitals like this."

Sam nodded. A grimace of pain swept over his face. "I hope Dad gets here soon."

"Sam - what the hell happened?" Dean tried to keep the rage he felt out of his voice. "You left a message on my phone you were going to be tutoring some kid. Who beat you up?"

Sam shook his head wearily. "Not now. " He looked away from Dean's scowl. "Please, Dean." He pressed his head back into the pillow, wincing. "God, it freaking _hurts_!"

"Okay, Sammy, okay," Dean said soothingly. "Don't sweat it, you just stay quiet and rest. I'm gonna go sign those papers the doc asked me for and give Dad another call. I'll be back in a minute."

Nodding, Sam closed his eyes. "I'm cold." Exhausted and pale, he looked a lot younger than his sixteen years.

"I'll cover you up," Dean said. "You rest."

He found a blanket in a nearby closet. As Dean pulled it over his now lightly-dozing brother, seeing again the large, dark and numerous bruises covering Sam's body, rage swept over him, turning his vision red.

Lowering his head against it, he held on to the bed rail, trying to calm himself. Not now. Not now. Later.

He looked into his brother's face. _Someone _is going to pay for those bruises, he swore silently.

Dean pressed his lips against Sam's forehead and went to find Dr. Creedy.


	3. Chapter 3

Tightly clutching his brother's limp hand, Dean sat as close to Sam as he could get.

The operation had gone well. No complications.

After being moved from recovery to a private room, Sam had roused just long enough to smile faintly at his older brother before he fell back asleep.

That had been late last night. It was almost 9am now and he hadn't stirred yet.

Dan sighed, rubbing between his eyes. A few hours more on that football field - it could have ended very differently.

The damage to Sam's spleen had been severe enough that Dr. Creedy had had to remove a small portion of it, but it had _not_ beenbad enough to have to remove the whole thing.

Which as Dean understood it, was good, as the doc had explained that the spleen had a lot to do with the body's ability to fight infection.

With the target on his back that Sam seemed to carry, Dean was thankful the spleen had survived - his little brother was _definitely_ going to need the little sucker.

Dean stared into Sam's face, noting the dark bruised circles under his eyes, the pale skin, the mottled bruises he could see peeking out from under the hospital gown.

It was bad, yeah, but there was no fever. Dean had checked on that first thing. No thermometer, but then, he didn't need one. He'd been checking his brother's temperature with his mom's method of lips against forehead for years. Sam was going to be just fine.

Okay, sure, he'd be stiff and sore for _days_. There's be no hunts, no training, probably no school. And they were definitely _not _going to be able to get back on the road with their dad any time soon, which would probably tick John off pretty good.

Dean shrugged that thought aside. Nothing to be done. He'd take care of what he could.

He heard the door squeak open behind him but didn't turn, figuring it was the nurse come to check Sam's vitals again. He jumped when a large hand dropped onto his shoulder and looked up to see his father staring down at him, smiling.

"Dad!" He started to rise, but his father pressed him back down onto the chair.

"I just talked to the doctor," John Winchester said in a low voice, looking over at his youngest son. "She brought me up to speed; she said he's going to be okay."

Dean nodded, steeling himself for what he knew would come next.

"What happened, Dean? What the hell happened?"

Ashamed, Dean shook his head. "I don't know, Dad. Sam left a voicemail on my cell while I was at work, saying he was going to be tutoring some kid after school. When he didn't come home for supper, I went out looking for him." He lowered his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Dad. Sam's my responsibility. I've got no excuse."

John shook his head. "The doctor said someone beat him." There was a question in his voice, and pain.

Silent, careful not to wake his sleeping brother, Dean stood up and lifted the blanket off of Sam. He pulled the hospital gown aside, showed his father the bruises on Sam's arms and legs, the damaged knuckles, the dark bruises on the abdomen not covered by bandages.

John's eyes darkened with rage. "Someone had him on the ground and put their boots to him."

Dean nodded bitterly, lips tight.

"Do we know who did this?" John asked softly, dangerously.

Dean shook his head. "The cops wouldn't tell me anything. They probably thought I'd go out and kick somebody's ass."

John nodded. "And they would've been right."

Dean shifted under his father's gaze, covered Sam back up again, gently.

"Not until Sammy's better." Then he said harshly, "But yeah, they'd be right. Those guys are dead men walking. They just don't know it yet."

_Grab him!_

Sam stirred in his sleep, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

_Jesus Christ, Denny, he's just one freaking guy!_

"Don't," he mumbled. "Don't."

_Get him!_

Sam jerked awake and tried to sit up, sinking back with a deep hissing breath at the stab of pain in his abdomen.

"Hey, Sammy, take it easy." Familiar hands pressed him gently back onto his pillow, comforted him. "You're okay. Stay still."

Little by little, the pain slipped back to manageable levels. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at his brother, and then past him.

"Dad!"

John leaned over him, brushed a finger lightly over his cheek, pushed long dark hair back from his face. "Son. It's good to see you awake. We've been worried."

"How you feeling, Sam?" Dean asked, eyes concerned.

Sam thought about it, gave an infinitesimal shrug. "I've been better."

"The doctor said you're gonna be fine," Dean said. "Damage wasn't as bad as she thought. They only had to remove a little bit of your spleen. No problem. She says you can come home in a couple of days." Dean grinned. "Lucky punk! You should see the night nurse!"

Sam groaned. "Oh, dude, don't make me laugh!"

"Oh, yeah, listen, see this?" Dean pointed to a button on the bedside rail. It was attached to a line which led to a medication drip.

"It's morphine. Nurse said if it gets bad, just click the button and it'll let out enough dope to smooth out the edges."

"Only if you need it, Sam," John interjected.

Sam was quiet for a minute. Then he shook his head.

"I don't need it. I'm good."

"How about some water?"

He nodded and Dean held the glass as Sam drank thirstily.

"That's better. Thanks, Dean."

"No problem, Sammy." He tried not to grin at this new bit of news, but man, it was _hard_. "You're not going to be using the john for a few hours, dude. Catheter."

"I wondered. It feels weird down there."

Dean grimaced. "I bet."

"Dean." Impatient, John interrupted their byplay.

Dean glanced at his father. "Yes, sir?"

"I want you to wait outside while I talk to your brother."

Dean turned to face him. "Excuse me, sir, but if you're going to be asking Sam what happened, I'm staying."

John eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"If you make me leave now, I'll just wait until you leave and then I'll come back in here and make Sammy tell me what he told you," Dean said frankly, not wanting to piss his father off, but wanting to leave his brother even less. "May as well save him the effort of telling it twice."

John huffed out an angry breath, but, after a moment, turned back to Sam.

"What happened, son?" he asked gently.

_Get him!_

Sam turned his face away.

"Sam." John took his son's hand, squeezed it. "Come on."

Sam looked back at them stubbornly.

"It was just a fight."

Dammit, he did _not_ want to talk about this!

His brother and father waited.

_Hold him down! Hold him down, dammit!_

Sam took a breath. "The principal asked me to tutor a guy on the football team," he said finally. "Algebra."

"Yeah, that's what you said on the voicemail you left me," Dean said. "What kind of tutoring involves leaving you with a ruptured spleen?"

"Dean," John looked at him warningly.

Dean subsided.

"Go ahead, Sam."

"This guy - he's been hinting around that he wants me to do his homework for him." He scowled. "I don't know how he figured that's going to help him pass the course, I can't take his stupid tests for him; I guess Randy's not a big thinker."

_Ah._ Dean thought with satisfaction. _Randy. Number one on my hit parade._

"Today he came flat out and asked me," Sam went on. "He said he'd pay me. I told him no. He didn't like that."

John nodded. "He did this to you?"

"Him and six or seven other guys," Sam said grimly. "

Dean shifted, lowered his gaze to the floor, eyes hot with rage.

"They ambushed me on the way home. I was cutting through the football field." He stared at the ceiling. "Three or four I could have managed, maybe five. They're not trained like we are." He lifted his hands, looked at his bruised knuckles. "I messed them up some. But once they had me down on the ground - that was pretty much it."

Sam didn't want dinner and Dean had no taste for hospital food, but John was starving. Dean waited with Sam while their father went down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

Once John got back to Sam's room, he looked at Dean's tired eyes and pale face with appraising eyes.

"Go home and get something to eat. And sleep," John instructed him. "I don't want to see you back here until tomorrow morning."

Delighted, green eyes gleaming, Dean gave his father a wolfish grin.

"Sure, Dad, whatever you say." He rubbed a rough hand over his Sam's shaggy hair. "See you in the morning, kid."

"Dean . . . "

"What?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?" He looked down into Sam's shuttered face.

"Just - don't."

Sam waited until his brother shrugged.

"Fine." Looking toward the door, Dean lowered his voice. "Don't forget about Gretchen."

Confused, Sam stared at him.

"Dude!" Dean shook his head pityingly. "Night nurse, remember?"

Once Dean was gone, Sam shifted uneasily in bed. He was exhausted, he was aching for sleep, but he couldn't get comfortable. Every way he turned, something hurt; something burned or ached. He sighed.

"You need to sleep, Sam," his father said with sympathy. "Do you want some morphine?"

Sam shook his head, restless. "I'm okay."

John didn't believe him, but didn't want to push the strong opiate on his son unless it was really necessary. He cast around for another topic of conversation.

"I spoke to the police when I went down to the cafeteria. I told them what you said about Randy. He's going to arrest him in the morning. He'll get the names of the other boys responsible from him."

"Oh, _crap." _

John was surprised and showed it. "Is there some special reason you don't want their asses in jail?"

"Because I'm not his freaking _victim_!" Sam burst out. "_I'll _take care of him. I don't need the cops, or Dean, or _you _to take care of this for me!"

John considered him. "You'll be out of the hospital in a couple of days, but you're going to be flat on your back for a month."

"I can wait a month," Sam insisted.

"_I _can't, Sam. I've got to be in Virginia in a few days and I can't leave with this unresolved."

Incredulous, Sam stared at him, then laughed bitterly. "Guess I should have seen _that_ coming!"

"Don't do that, Sam," John said sternly, forcing down his own vague feelings of guilt. "Don't feel sorry for yourself. Things happen. You deal with it, then move on. That's it."

Sam looked angrily away from his father, then turned back suddenly, raising himself up on his elbows, ignoring the scream of protest from his abdomen. "Why the hell is this _crap _always happening to me?"

His dad started to answer and Sam cut him off. "Not just the hunting, I get that. I'm not stupid! Why am I _always _the one that ends up flat on my back in some damned hospital?"

"You don't," he raged. "Dean doesn't. Neither of you are ever hurt enough or sick enough to see a doctor unless it's because some monster laid you open. What is it? Am I just a freaking weakling?" He tried to push himself further up, absolutely _furious_, and then fell back, pain draining what little color he had left in his face.

John leaned over him. "Sam?" He reached for the morphine drip but Sam grabbed his arm. "_No," _he gritted.

"Sam, that's what it's for," John protested. "What's the point of you being in pain when you don't have to be?"

"The point is, I _don't _need it." He held onto his father's arm until the older man nodded reluctantly.

"I am so _tired_ of this." Sam closed his eyes, exhausted. His voice dropped even lower. "No one is _ever _going to do that to me again."

John sat back down, watching as his son lay tight-lipped, silent and in pain. Eventually Sam fell asleep, leaving his father worried, confused, and without the slightest clue what to do.


	4. Chapter 4

John stared at the deputy with disbelief.

"So you're telling me," he said carefully, "that even though my son gave you the name of the boy who attacked him, even though he clearly _was _attacked and nearly died, you're not going to charge the little bastard?"

Deputy Mack Gerard flushed. "It's your son's word against his, Mr. Cade. And the other boy has witnesses stating that he was with them at the time of the attack."

"And those witnesses," John said contemptuously, "I'm guessing they're also on the football team?"

Gerard didn't answer.

"Was he marked? Were any of them marked?" John asked.

Deputy Gerard looked confused for a moment. "

"My boy fought back. His knuckles were cut and scraped!" John snapped impatiently. "Some of them had to show signs of it."

"They're football players, Mr. Cade. It's football season. They're always cut-up and bruised. That's the nature of the game."

John turned away from him and paced angrily around the room.

Deputy Gerard sighed inwardly.

That little shit heel Randy Travens _was _lying. The shit heel boys who'd alibied him were lying. They'd beaten the Cade boy, nearly killed him and there was nothing he could do about it.

The Chief had had a quiet word with the principal, with the boy's father, and with him. The matter would be dropped.

End of story.

He'd like to tell this man that Sam had fought hard enough to break a few noses. That several of them were "marked" so badly they'd be out of school for as long as his boy.

He'd like to tell him that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened to an outsider.

He wouldn't, of course. He liked his job, except for times like this.

"It would help if Sam would talk to us, give us the names of the other boys involved," he said instead. "As it stands now, unless someone else comes forward, there's nothing we can do."

John stopped pacing and faced him squarely, warningly.

"I'm leaving town tomorrow for a few days. If anything happens to my son while I'm gone - I'm not going to be a happy man." His tone was menacing.

Gerard had been a cop for almost twenty years, fifteen of them in Los Angeles and San Diego before coming here. He knew a dangerous man when he saw one.

He had no having no trouble at all reading the message beneath the seemingly innocuous statement.

"It wouldn't be a good idea to take matters into your own hands, sir," he said carefully. "This is a small town. They can be - unfriendly to strangers."

John gave a short, sharp and bitter laugh. "Deputy, you haven't even _met _unfriendly yet ."

Dr. Creedy came into the room as Sam sank into the wheelchair and settled himself for the trip out to the car.

She put a gentle hand on his shoulder and smiled at him.

"I want you to be careful with yourself for a while, Sam Cade. I put a lot of work into those stitches and I don't want to have to redo any of them."

Sam didn't meet her eyes, just nodded jerkily, clutching the bag holding his medication.

Dean stuck out a hand. "Thanks, doc," he said with a grin.

She shook his hand, liking the friendly young man enormously. "My pleasure, Dean. I don't want to see you back here either, all right?"

Dean shook his head with a laugh. "Not likely, Doc."

Dr. Creedy left the Cades to finish her rounds, but she couldn't keep her mind off of young Sam. Though she was satisfied with his ongoing _physical _recovery, she was still very worried about him.

She'd seen a lot of rage in her job and this young man seemed to be carrying around a lot more than his fair share of it.

A _lot_ more.

She spoken to his father about it. He'd understood her recommendation that Sam see a therapist to talk about what had happened to him, but she had no real hope that the man would take her advice.

She knew - she just _knew _- it wasn't a question of _would _the boy explode, but _when_.

And who was going to get caught in the shrapnel when he did.

"You ready?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded silently.

Dean frowned. "What the hell is going on with you, Sam?"

His little brother scowled at him. "You mean besides the fact that the whole football team tried to kick me to death and none of them are going to pay for it? What's with me besides that?"

Dean scowled right back at him. "Yes! Damn it, why are you acting like such a dick?"

"You're the dick!" Sam snapped at him.

"You better knock it off, spleen boy," Dean growled, "or I'll slap your dumb ass silly. Me and Dad aren't the ones who did this to you!"

Sam looked away from him, struggling for control. "Let's just go."

After a simmering minute, Dean pushed the chair forward.

"You're _leaving_?" Dean asked, stunned. He cast a quick look at Sam, sitting on the living room couch. His brother looked away sullenly, but did not appear surprised.

"'Can't we just go with you?" Dean asked.

John shook his head. "Sam won't be ready to travel for a week or so. I've got a job to finish up. Once that's done, I'll come back and we'll be moving on."

Okay, now that _had _to get a reaction, Dean thought expectantly, looking again at Sam.

_Nothing_.

At hearing that they would be leaving town before he finished out the school year, something that normally would have had him screaming for _days_, Sam just looked down at the floor.

"Doctor Creedy said you'd be okay to go to school next week if you want to, Sam," John went on. He waited for an answer, then continued, pressing the point. "It's up to you whether you go or not."

Sam looked at him, eyes veiled. Then, waving away Dean's offer of help, he pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the pull on his stitches.

"When are you leaving?" he asked his father.

John hesitated. "About an hour, after I pack and get something to eat."

Sam nodded. "I'll be ready to leave when you get back." He turned away and walked slowly down the hall to his room, closing the door firmly behind him.

The two elder Winchesters stared at each other, worry shadowing their faces.

"You stay with your brother," John said finally. "Take care of him. We'll take care of the rest of this - _them _- when I get back."

Dean nodded. "I will, sir."

_Better than I did before_ was the unspoken but clearly heard message beneath his reply.

Conflicted, as always, between love for his sons, and duty, John left that afternoon.

Dean stood sentry.

Sam slept.

_It is a cool night, but his jacket is warm and he doesn't mind the cold. He kind of likes it; it makes everything seem fresh and clean._

_As he enters the east end of the football field, he hears a shout in the distance, but it doesn't alarm him. It's just kids getting rowdy - nothing unusual around a school. _

_He walks on, thinking about dinner. About how much homework he has to do tonight. About the chem test tomorrow._

_Another shout. Closer this time. He turns to see Randy Travens running to catch up. Morey Simpkins is with him, and Castle Durning, two other kids from the football team._

"_Hold up, Cade!"_

Moaning, Sam struggled up toward the surface of his dream.

Hearing him, Dean poked his head into the room.

Sam was sprawled across his bed, asleep. He still wore his jacket and shoes. Smiling, Dean tugged Sam's shoes off, then pulled a blanket over him against the slight chill in the room.

He reached down, touched his brother gently on the cheek. Then, satisfied, he went back to cleaning his gun in front of the living room T.V.

Sam stirred uneasily.

"_You think you're too good to play on our team? Think you're too good for my money?" Randy shoves Sam and he falls back against Morey and Castle. Laughing, they grab his arms and, though he struggles, he can't break free._

_A fist sinks into his stomach and Sam gasps for breath. He can hear laughter all around him as more boys gather round to join in the fun._

_Furious, desperate, he pushes hard with his feet against the ground, thrusting himself back against his captors. He is strong and his momentum carries them all to the ground, hoots and catcalls following them down. _

_Free now, he jumps up and starts swinging, not caring who's in front of him. All he can see is angry faces. He hurts them. He can feel the crunch of cartilage under his fists; the spray of blood from split lips. But they are hurting him, too, and there are a lot of them._

_Suddenly they're all on top of him, so many of them that the ones on top can't even reach him to hit, but that doesn't matter because the ones underneath are more than getting their blows in. He can't get them off and he can't breathe, they're crushing him, god, help, he can't breathe!_

_Then they're off of him and Sam sucks in a deep breath. He coughs, gagging with pain and he knows that at least one rib is broken. _

_He can't stop gagging. He rolls over onto his side and vomits and he can see through the pain that there is blood in the vomit and he wonders hazily what else inside him is broken._

_A sudden, sharp kick knocks him onto his back and a sudden flurry of punches and kicks are raining down on him. He tries to fight back, he tries, but there are too damned many of them, too many, and oh god it hurts! _

_When the darkness finds him, he's more than happy to fall into it._

Dean finished cleaning his Colt. Then, bored, he cleaned his sawed-off, the Remington, and the Beretta.

When he finally finished, it was getting late and he was starting to get hungry. He went into the kitchen and rummaged around, but there wasn't much in there.

Knowing that there was nothing to eat in the house made him even hungrier.

Deciding to go get some take-out, Dean went to Sam's room to see if he was awake yet, if he felt like eating. The kid's appetite was pretty much nonexistent these days, what with the surgery, but he needed to eat _something_.

He pushed the bedroom door open a couple of inches; the bed was empty.

"Sam?"

He opened it open the rest of the way and saw Sam at the closet door.

"Hey, Sammy, you hungry?"

Body thrumming with tension, Sam turned to face him. His mouth was set in a hard, angry line. His hazel eyes, when they met Dean's, were molten with fury.

Dean's gaze dropped down to Sam's hands and his own eyes went wide.

Sam was holding the .45 that their father had given him for his last birthday.


	5. Chapter 5

"What are you doing with that?" Dean said quietly, not moving.

Sam looked down at the gun, then back up at his brother. "I don't -" . He hesitated, the fury in his eyes somewhat dampened by puzzlement. "Mind your own business."

"You are my business, Sammy. Right now, you're the only business I've got." Looking closely, Dean saw the rapid rise and fall of Sam's chest, the spots of color high up on his cheekbones and the pallor underneath that color.

Stepping forward, moving slowly, Dean put his hand on the gun. Sam resisted at first, then, reluctantly, let his brother take it.

Dean stuck the .45 into his belt.

"What were you gonna do? Walk into the school and blow the bastards away?" He put a hand on Sam's forehead. Sam jerked away.

"Knock it off!" he ordered sharply. "I want to check your temperature. I don't want to have to take your dumb ass back to the hospital."

Too accustomed to obeying his brother's orders in matters of his health, Sam subsided and let Dean check him out.

"Not too bad," Dean decided, finally. "Did you take your meds?"

Sam looked at the floor and Dean frowned. "Do you _want _to go back? Where in hell are they?"

Head still down, Sam motioned to the bureau. Dean saw the bag, still unopened, on top of it. He opened the bag, pulled out the pills and, after getting a glass of water from the bathroom, watched Sam down them.

"Drink all of it," he instructed. "Gotta keep you hydrated."

Sam obeyed. He looked, Dean decided, a little less likely to go out and shoot up the town now. He motioned to the bed and Sam shook his head fretfully.

"I don't want to sleep. I'm tired of sleeping." He pushed past Dean and went to the living room, his brother behind him.

Once there, he swung around, listing to the side a bit, and glared at Dean.

"Those bastards aren't going to get away with this!"

"Damned straight they're not," Dean gave Sam a hard smile. "When Dad gets back -"

"No!" Sam half-shouted. "Not Dad! Not you! This is mine!" He staggered a little bit and Dean caught him, lowered him to the worn couch, where he lay panting and glaring up at him.

"Sam, look at you. You're in no shape to take on one of those assholes, much less the whole crowd."

"In a few weeks -"

"I don't care how fast you heal, you take on eight guys, you're just going to end up back in the hospital," Dean said flatly.

"I don't want all eight." Sam laid his head against the back of the couch. "I just want one." He sighed, his meager supply of strength exhausted. "_Shit_."

Dean sat down next to him, gently smoothing sweat-damp hair away from his brother's face.

Sam looked at him wearily. "Sorry about the whole dick thing, Dean."

Dean smiled. "It's okay." He glanced down at the .45, still tucked into his belt. "What was up with the gun?"

Sam shook his head wearily. Dean nudged him. Nudged him again.

"OKay, _fine_. I was dreaming," he said reluctantly. "About what happened." Rage flickered in his eyes. "They had me down on the damned ground and they were all over me, kicking and punching. It was pretty bad."

"So, what, you were going to go and blow them all away?" Dean asked lightly, trying to hide his own fury.

"It wasn't like that - I don't really remember," Sam said, frowning. "I woke up when you came into the room. I guess I was sleepwalking."

"You haven't done that in years!" Dean said, surprised. "Jeez, you just woke up with the .45 in your hand?"

Sam nodded.

"Hmm." Dean thought about it and then shrugged it away. "Well, can't say I blame you. I'd like to ventilate 'em, too." He poked Sam in the shoulder teasingly. "But you know what Dad says."

"'No killing humans,'" Sam quoted, smiling. It was a small smile, but the first one Dean had seen in days. "I'm pretty sure that's racial discrimination."

"I agree. We should try to talk Dad into adding assholes to the approved hit list."

That got a by God laugh out of Sam, which was great, even though it was accompanied by a wince as he grabbed his stomach.

"Shit, don't make me laugh!" he wheezed.

"No promises, dude," Dean grinned. "Listen, are you hungry?"

Sam started to shake his head, then paused, surprised. "You know, I think I am."

"Pizza? Or KFC?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I don't think I can handle that yet."

"We got soup," Dean suggested.

"That sounds good."

"What kind?"

Sam shrugged. "Whatever."

"I'll go heat some up for you. Then I'm going to head out, pick up something for me." Dean looked at him. "You going to be okay for a few minutes? I won't be long."

Sam gave him an impatient look. "Dean, come on. What am I, five?" Before Dean could take a shot, Sam went on, "How about we watch a movie when you get back? _My _choice," he added.

Dean shook his head emphatically. "No way, man. I am not in the mood for some chick flick."

Sam scoffed. "I was thinking "Terminator."

"Now there's the Sammy I know and love." Dean gave Sam's head a violent noogie. "Be back in a minute with your soup."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, bro?"

"I meant what I said," Sam said, eyes grave. "About you and Dad."

"Hey, I get it," Dean raised his hands in surrender. "_You're _driving. But _I_ got your back."

Sam nodded in satisfaction.

On the way to the kitchen, Dean stowed Sam's .45 in the closet with the rest of the hardware, and locked the door. No sense in taking chances.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Harris," Randy said contemptuously. "Nothing's going to happen."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because the Chief already spoke with my dad. They're taking care of it."

"He was hurt pretty bad," Alex protested, unconvinced.

"Asshole's already out of the hospital," Randy scoffed. "Couldn't have been _that_ bad."

Alex was silent for a minute, then, "The coach is _pissed. _I've never seen him like that before._"_

"I have." Randy laughed dismissively. "He'll get over it. Listen, practice is on for tomorrow, 4 o'clock."

Alex didn't answer and Randy's anger came blasting through the phone. "You better freaking be there, Harris!"

Alex mumbled a reluctant affirmative and Randy clicked off.

Tossing his cell onto the bed, Alex pulled his shirt up, twisting to see the array of bruises spread across his torso. They'd started to fade at the edges, but the centers were still an impressive combination of blue and black. Damn, that Cade could _hit_!

"You deserve worse," Alice said from the door of his bedroom.

Jerking his shirt down, Alex spun around, eyes flashing behind his twin sister to make sure his parents hadn't seen his bruises. "Get out of here, Allie."

Ignoring that, she came into the room and shut the door behind her.

"Sam is my _friend_, Alex," she said reproachfully. "Why did you do it?"

"He's fine, Allie. Don't make a big deal out of it."

"He's my _friend_," she repeated. "He tutored me last semester. He's the only reason I passed algebra. You _knew_ that. So why? Just to stay in good with that creep Randy Travens?"

He flushed angrily and turned away. "Leave me alone."

"Alex, Sam almost _died_."

He snorted. "Oh, come on. Randy says he's out of the hospital already." He parroted Travens' words. "How bad could it have been?"

"Alex." She touched his arm, looked into his eyes. "I found him that night."

Her twin froze.

"I _saw_ what you guys did to him. I don't think I'll ever forget what he looked like. How much pain he was in." She drew a deep, shaky breath . "He had to have surgery, Alex. Christa Creedy told me he had to have part of his spleen removed."

Alex drew in a sharp breath.

"She said –" Allie hesitated, hating to say this, hating that it might be true. "She said that someone had him down on the ground and - tried to kick him to death."

At that, he looked into her eyes involuntarily, flinched at what he saw there.

"How – how did you find him?"

"I heard you talking to Randy on the phone that night. I didn't know exactly what had happened, but I heard enough to scare me. I went to the school and found him in the field."

"You called the police?"

"911."

"What, um, what did you tell them?"

"I told them I was out walking and found him." She watched as he visibly relaxed. "I lied, Alex. For _you_."

"Thank you," he said awkwardly.

"Don't thank me yet, Alex. I haven't decided yet what I'm going to do."

Alarmed, he said, "Allie –"

"He almost _died_," she said again, near to tears. "Don't you get that? Don't you _care_?"

"I'm your brother," Alex said desperately." That should count for _something_."

"It does. It counts a lot." Alice's eyes were dark with pain. "I love you. Damn it, you're _part_ of me."

Hand raised, he took a step toward her. She shook her head, tears standing in her eyes.

"_No_. You beat a helpless boy almost to death. And all you care about is if you get _caught_! I am so mad at you!"

Alex started to protest, then shrugged and turned away from her. "What do _you_ know."

A tear slid down Alice's cheek. She wiped it away. "I know that ever since you joined that stupid team, you've turned into a bully and a jerk," she said harshly. "And _I_ know that_ you_ know that what you did was wrong, or you wouldn't be trying to hide it from Mom and Dad! I'm ashamed of you. I'm ashamed to be your sister."

Choking back a sob, she wheeled and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Soup eaten, Sam half-dozed on the couch, waiting for his brother to return. 'Terminator' was queued - he just hoped Dean would get back before he fell completely asleep. He wanted to spend time with his brother. The last week had been so bad, so hard - he needed time to relax, to try to get back to normal. He wanted to get rid of some of the anger that still crowded him.

The phone rang and he pulled himself around, awkwardly hooking the receiver off the table next to the couch. "Hullo?"

"Hey, asshole."

Sam stiffened, recognizing Travens' mocking voice.

"What's the matter, Cade? Can't talk? Hey, I hear they had to open you up the other night. Took your spleen out, right? Well, spleen's not all that important. You can do without."

Hand tightening convulsively on the receiver, Sam remained silent.

"I bet you wish you'd taken me up on my offer, huh, Cade?" Travens continued. "Come on, now, don't be shy. Time we got things straightened out."

"Randy," Sam said quietly.

"You ready to take care of my homework now, Cade?" Randy laughed. "I don't think I'll need to pay you now, though - "

"Randy." A beat. "I'll be coming for you."

Dead silence on the other end of the line, and then, "Come ahead, asshole."

Dial tone.

Sam sat up. After a long, tense minute, he jumped to his feet and threw the phone across the room; it smashed against the wall. Clutching his abdomen, he glared across at the wreckage.

"You son-of-a-bitch_! I'm coming for you."_


	6. Chapter 6

Last chapter. And you know what? Chuck was right. Endings are freaking HELL! Hope I didn't screw the pooch on this one. Let me know what you think!

* * *

><p>The door to her office opened and Patsy Baxter looked up from her computer. A young man, short sandy hair, leather jacket and <em>long<em> jean-clad legs, stood in front of her desk. She didn't remember seeing him before; he looked about twenty, so not one of the students.

He was also one of the best-looking men she'd seen in ages, so she was disappointed to see that the intense green eyes staring at her were anything but friendly.

"Good afternoon," Patsy asked politely. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Sam Cade's brother. I need to see Brennan."

_Uh oh._ "Principal Brennan is very busy this afternoon. Is there something _I _can do for you?"

"Yeah, there is." Eyes hard, Dean leaned on her desk and stuck his face close in to hers. "You can get your butt in there and tell that prick I want to see him."

Eyes wide, Patsy stared at him. "Um . . ."

"Or, I can just walk in," Dean added. "What's is going to be?"

"It's all right, Patsy." Principal Franklin Brennan stood in the doorway of his inner office. "I can see Mr. Cade."

Dean left Patsy staring open-mouthed after him and walked into Brennan's office, refusing the man's offer of a chair. "We're pulling Sam out of here. I want his records. Now."

Brennan started to protest, then reconsidered. "That might be best," he said reluctantly. "Although it's customary for a parent to come in and sign the paperwork."

"My dad's out of town," Dean snapped. "He sent me." His eyes dared the man to cross him.

Acquiescing, Brennan nodded. He keyed the intercom on his desk. "Patsy, could you please bring me Samuel Cade's records?"

There was a slight pause. "Right away, Mr. Brennan."

While they waited, Brennan sat in silence. Dean paced back and forth in front of his desk, scowling, fists clenched. He was having a _really_ hard time not knocking the man through the wall. Only knowing that if he did, jail would be his next stop and Sam would be alone, stopped him.

"It's unfortunate that something like this had to happen," Brennan said at length. "Sam is an excellent student. He's been a great help in tutoring his fellow classmates."

Dean's eyes narrowed. Was he kidding? Was the guy _really _this clueless?

"You mean like Travens?" Dean said. "Hey, you know what? _Screw _unfortunate, and screw you, too. Sam almost died and a lot of that is on _you_."

"Mr. Cade -" Brennan protested, shocked.

"Sam's not the first kid this has happened to," Dean said angrily. "And I hear the other kid's family left town, too. Jesus, Brennan, who runs this school? You or those thugs you call a football team?"

Brennan's narrow face was rigid with insult. "You're exaggerating. A fight between boys -"

"This wasn't a fight and you damned well know it!" Dean hissed, aching to smash the man, hurt him the way Sam had been hurt. "Eight against one is not a fight. It's assault, and damned near ended up murder!"

The door behind him opened and Patsy came in, file in hand. By the look on her face, she'd clearly overheard him.

Dean took the folder from her, turned back to Brennan.

"If Sam had died," Dean spat, "I'd've killed every one of the little bastards. Then I'd have killed you. Then I'd have burned down your fucking school!"

Grabbing the file from the horrified woman, he turned to leave, firing a final salvo over his shoulder.

"Get your head out of your ass, Brennan, before somebody ends up dead!"

* * *

><p>Dean listened to his father, cell held loosely in his hand, as he sprawled on the couch. "No, Dad, I didn't touch him, wanted to - man, what an <em>asshole<em>! …. I know ….. Yeah, I got 'em. No problem. Guy's a dick but he didn't give me any trouble."

"We'll be ready to go when you get here …. Sam's fine. Pretty ticked off …. Yeah, I told him what the Doc said. Four more weeks recovery time. He gets it, he just doesn't want to leave here without settling with Travens."

"Well, you can't blame him. Hell, I'd like to rip the guy a new one myself …. I know …. Don't worry, Dad. I'll keep an eye on him."

The doorbell rang. "Listen, Dad, gotta go. Doorbell. We'll see you later tonight. Bye."

He checked through the peephole before opening the door and so, when he opened it, his smile was warm and welcoming. "Alice!"

Her answering smile was a bit shy and uncertain. "Hi."

Dean pulled her into the house and gave her a rib-cracking hug. "Thank you," he said fervently. "I know I said it before, but _thank you_."

The diminutive blonde squeaked a little and he released her, laughing.

"You're welcome," she replied, laughing back, relaxing. "I just stopped by to see how Sam is." She blushed.

Dean looked at her alertly, hid a smile. _Oh, yeah? Sammy, you dog!_

"Oh, he's a lot better," he answered, glancing toward the bedroom, where he knew his brother was packing. "He'll be glad to see you. Hang on a minute, I'll go get him."

Alice watched him as he left the room.

She liked him. Had since he'd first come to her, a couple of days after the attack, to thank her for helping Sam. She could see how much he loved Sam, knew how much it had hurt him to see his brother's pain.

The bond between the two brothers reminded her of what she and Alex had had together before they'd reached high school and he'd started hanging out with Travens' crowd. Tears stung her eyes and she forced them back. She'd get him back, Alice promised herself. Maybe it wouldn't, _couldn't_, be the same as before. But she'd get her brother back.

Sam came out of his bedroom, smiling. "Hey, Alice."

"Sam!" She got up from the couch, kissed him on the cheek. He blushed and then kissed her back lightly. He looked much stronger than when she'd last seen him. His color was good and, though she could tell that he was still weak, it was obvious that he was well on the road to recovery.

The three of them sat in the living room, AC/DC playing at an almost civilized volume, and talked for a few minutes about inconsequentials - the coming holidays, a movie they'd all seen, a series of books that both Sam and she were reading. At last, small talk exhausted, Alice sat staring down at the floor, chewing her lip.

"Is something wrong?"

She looked up at Sam and drew in a deep breath. "I wanted to tell you what's been happening, because I knew no one else would think to."

"But first, I have to tell you - Sam, my brother, Alex, was one of the boys from that night." Alice finished in a rush, glad to finally get it out, but afraid to look at him.

Dean stiffened, checking Sam's reaction; relaxed when his brother showed no signs of distress, just nodded.

"I knew that, Alice," said Sam, hazel eyes sober.

"There's no excuse for what he did." There was a shine of tears in her eyes, two spots of color high up on her fair cheekbones. "I'm just _so _sorry, Sam!"

Sam leaned forward, took her hands in his. "You're not responsible for him, Alice," he said. "You're my friend. That hasn't changed."

She smiled at him gratefully, looked down at their clasped hands for a moment. When she looked up, the tears were gone, but her eyes were a lot older than when Sam had first met her.

"Alex finally told our Mom and Dad what happened. They went to some of the other parents, and then to the police. Then they went to the school board and there was a special session. Principal Brennan got in big trouble. The coach, too."

Dean grinned. "Awesome!"

"We found out that the Chief of Police knew what had happened." Her voice was full of shocked indignation. "He _knew!_ The deputy that investigated your case, the Chief wouldn't let him arrest Randy or Alex or the other boys, but when he found out that it was going to come out anyway, the Chief went to the Mayor and spoke with him. The Chief got into _big_ trouble."

Alice lowered her voice as if she could get into trouble if anyone heard her. "They're talking about having an _investigation_!"

"I repeat, awesome!" Dean reached out, patted Sam on the shoulder. "Good news, huh?"

Sam flicked a quick glance at his brother, gave a little shrug, then focused back on Alice. "What else?"

"My mom and dad pulled Alex off the team. Some of the other parents did, too. There aren't enough players left to finish out the season so they'll have to forfeit the rest of the games."

"What about Randy?"

She shook her head soberly. "His parents didn't come to the meeting, but it didn't matter. The boys told the board who started it. Everyone knows, the whole school. Randy's been suspended."

Sam did smile now. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

Alice giggled. Then, sobering, "I hear you're leaving?"

"Our dad's coming in sometime tonight," Dean answered. "We'll be gone by morning."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Alice looked sadly at Sam. He cast his eyes sideways at Dean.

Taking the hint, Dean stood. "Thanks again, Alice. You take care." On his way out, he ruffled his brother's shaggy hair playfully.

With a clearly exaggerated long-suffering look, Sam sighed. "_Dean_."

Cackling, Dean left the two teens alone for a more private good-bye.

* * *

><p>It was late evening. Everything packed and ready to go, just waiting for their father's arrival. Dean stopped by his brother's room. "You ready to go, Sammy?"<p>

Lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, Sam nodded.

Dean frowned. "Sam, are you still upset about -"

"Dean - I _don't _want to talk about this!" There was a rough edge to his voice.

"Sam, I'm sorry, but -"

"Listen, I get it. Four more weeks. I get it." With an impatient growl, he rolled over onto his stomach, winced and rolled back over. "Randy gets a walk. I freaking get it!"

"We can come back in a few weeks -" Dean trailed off.

Sam laughed bitterly. "Come on, man. That's not gonna happen. Once we're out of here, Dad'll never agree to come back. He'd never let anything as _unimportant_ as me kicking Randy Travens' ass come between him and a hunt."

Dean would have liked to protest, but there was no point. Dad had been furious at first about what had happened to Sam, but he was pretty much over it. Once they left here, it would be out of sight, out of mind. And since Sam wouldn't let Dean deal with it . . .

Sam sighed. "I'm going to try and get some sleep before Dad gets here. Can you hit the light for me?"

"Okay, Sam." Dean answered quietly. He flipped off the light, hesitated a moment, and then closed the door.

Sam lay still for a couple of minutes, listening to his brother walk back to the living room; waited until he heard the television come on. Then, easing quietly out of bed, he pulled out his cell phone and re-read the last text message he'd received.

"TEN PM - THE FIELD."

* * *

><p>Randy was waiting for him near one of the goal posts, body tense, fists clenched.<p>

Sam stopped a few feet away from him. "Travens."

"Cade." Randy stared at him, eyes hot. "Hear you're leaving town."

"Yep." Sam grinned mockingly. "Hear the football team's shot to hell and you're suspended."

Randy flushed and his eyes glittered. "Thanks to _you_."

Sam's laugh was bitter. "Yeah, right. Sorry my whole spleen thing screwed you guys up."

"Our team has been at the top of our league for the last three years. Coach said there was a scout coming to check out next week's game!" Randy seethed. "He's not coming now. Thanks to _you_!"

"So, what, you think I screwed up your chance to play pro ball?" Sam bared his teeth in a tight grin. "_Oops_!"

Randy stalked toward him. Sam circled, keeping some distance between them.

"You scared, Cade?" Randy sneered.

"Why, were you planning to have the rest of the team hold me down again so you can try to kick me to death?"

Randy flushed angrily.

"No?" Sam shrugged derisively. "Not too scared, then, _coward_."

With a roar, the bigger boy charged. Sam slipped swiftly to the side, kicking him on the back of his knee as he passed and Randy fell heavily to the ground.

Sam backed off a little, waited until Randy climbed heavily to his feet, looking a little more wary. Neither boy spoke. They circled for a moment, then Randy rushed him again, faster this time. Sam slipped to the opposite side, this time striking a hard blow into his adversary's kidneys and then another kick to the back of the same knee.

Randy cried out in pain and fell to his knees. "Son of a _bitch!_"

Sam stayed well back from him, panting. A fine sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead, though the night was chilly. His abdomen throbbed from the sudden swift movements. _Gotta end this quick. I can't last, and if he gets hold of me, I'm dead._

Randy started up again. Before he was halfway up, Sam came in close and swung, fist connecting solidly to Randy's chin, sending him crashing back onto the grass.

The force of the blow sent a shock wave through Sam's abdomen and he clutched both arms around himself, gasping with pain. Warmth trickled down his belly into his pants and he looked down to see blood soaking through his t-shirt.

Randy, face wild with pain and anger, lunged up again, cursing when his knee refused to support him. Holding one arm against his stomach, Sam staggered over to him. Randy glared up at him. "_Motherf_-"

Gritting his teeth, Sam put everything he had left into his next swing. It connected squarely with Randy's chin. There was an audible snap and the boy flew backward and slammed into the ground again. This time he lay still.

The force of his blow spun Sam around and he went to his knees, crying out in pain. Vision blurred, choking, he still managed to keep his eyes on the motionless body of his opponent.

The pain in his stomach eased up after a few long and tortuous minutes and Sam managed to pull himself to his feet. He stood over Randy for a minute, watching the boy breathe; then rolled him over onto his side, in case he had to puke, making sure the s.o.b. didn't choke himself.

Certain now that he wasn't a murderer, even by default, Sam started the walk home. He didn't feel like he was hurt too badly, maybe a few pulled stitches, but he wasn't sure he could get back up if he fell, so he took small, careful steps and watched his footing.

_Better get home. Dad's going to want to kick my ass._ For some stupid reason that sounded as funny as hell and he couldn't stop laughing, holding on to his stomach and groaning in between giggles.

At one point during the interminably long trip home, he found himself holding his cell phone, Dean's number ready to dial. Shaking his head, he forced himself to close it.

No. He would _not_ be rescued. Not again. He'd come out on his own. He'd get back on his own.

Almost there, anyway. Almost there.

_There._ The house, and the Impala parked in the driveway. His dad's truck wasn't there yet. He could see the light of the television through the curtains of the living room, knew Dean was up, waiting for their father.

Sam sighed wearily. There was no way he was climbing back through his window. Caught or not, that was beyond him. One slow careful step at a time, he made his way to the front door, pulling his house key out of his back pocket.

Before he got the key all the way into the lock, Dean pulled the door open and stared at him in astonishment. "Sam?" He saw the blood on Sam's t-shirt, the shadowed, exhausted eyes. "Crap!"

Then, without another word, he put an arm around his younger brother and half-carried him into the bedroom. Relieved beyond words, Sam let him.

On his bed, he slumped back against the pillow with a ragged but relieved sigh. Dean left for a minute, came back with needle and thread, bandages, antiseptic, and whiskey. He held the glass of whiskey to his little brother's lips, watched as he drank it and nodded with satisfaction as the color came back into his face.

Finishing the whiskey, Sam lay back, feeling curiously content as Dean pulled his shirt off and examined the stitches. Surprisingly, considering the blood, most of the stitches had held. Only a few had split open.

"Gonna have to re-stitch these, kid."

"Okay."

Dean washed the blood away, disinfected the area and swiftly re-stitched. Sam didn't move. Deciding a pressure bandage would be a good idea, Dean took care of that and then sat on the bed next to Sam.

"Dude, Dad is gonna kick your _ass_."

"That's okay. Worth it." Sam frowned slightly. "He's gonna get on your butt too, though. I'm sorry about that."

Dean shook his head. "No sweat, brother. You think I don't get why you did it?" He gave Sam's dark hair a quick tousle. "I'm just a little mad you didn't take me with you."

"You wouldn't have let me go. Besides - it had to be me. Just me." Sam's eyes held his brother's.

"I know, Sam. " Not wanting to ruin the kid's Rocky moment, he grinned. "So, Randy."

Sam's eyes gleamed. "Yeah, _Randy_."

Dean motioned to Sam's bandaged stomach. "Did he -?"

A small chuckle and shake of the head. "Never laid a hand on me."

They did a quick high five. "Nice!"

"Boys!"

They looked toward the bedroom door as their father's voice rang through the house and the front door slammed.

Dean got up, sighing. "I'll go talk to him. You rest until we're ready to go."

Sam looked up at him. "Don't worry, Dean. Whatever he says, it's okay."

Dean reached out, cuffed him gently. "Yeah, you are." He left the room, turning the light out, leaving the door open behind him.

Sam listened to the rumble of voices from the living room, temper unmistakable in his father's tone. He smiled sleepily, turning his face contentedly into the pillow.

It didn't matter. He'd done what he needed to do.

And now, Sam thought, he could sleep.


End file.
